


"I long for that feeling, to not feel at all."

by MoxFirefly



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, light sadomasochism, wybrose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoxFirefly/pseuds/MoxFirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't just linger on Bray in scent only. His nails like to write, hard scribbles that only Bray can understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I long for that feeling, to not feel at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Just some wybrose pwp.

At this point it's less of a buzz.

More of a trembling in his limbs.

It tends to shoot all over, ripple through him like waves. But it's ok, right? It's fine to feel it. Hell, it's good to feel something to begin with. That exactly what Dean needs, _to feel_. Something, anything. 

He needs the bite, the clawing and to be reassured.

_not everyone leaves, I wont leave._

So he lets the words crawl around his neck, lets them settle at his pulse and all he can do is encourage it. Breathless and greedy. 

And well, Bray is charitable. Especially with Dean.

Anything for Dean.

Whatever the man asks, if he wants blood, if he wants promises. Everything and anything, all for him and forever more. Bray will imprint on his flesh, he'll leave little reminders here and there. He'll also leave screams, scattered across Dean's hips and yield to his every desire to be broken apart and somewhat put back together. Because Dean works like that, like a puzzle with far too many missing pieces and crooked edges that may cut unskilled fingertips. 

He'll utter under his breath, bite down on the insides of his cheeks but the begging only starts when Bray wraps a hand around his neck. 

And Dean begs.

Begs to have the life snuffed out of him and if Bray could inhale that last breath he would keep it forever. 

He wants to keep Dean.

Wants all the crooked edges and sharp tongues. The taste of rum on his tongue along with copper. 

Bray always smells like cigarettes when he consumes Dean, a rough reminder of his love. He's used to the smell, how it sticks to his lips when he's kissing Dean, when he buried his face in the blond's neck and licks at his sweat. Only Dean would be so cancerous, and god is he sick but ready to die. And Dean, Dean is more than ready to take a casualty with him. But for now, being fucked will more than sufficed, being inhaled and torn apart like a drug will more than gladly suffice. Bray like's a certain spot on his chest, he makes a note by biting down hard enough to leave teeth indentation. Dean likes a certain spot too, and Bray's cock is hitting it hard enough to make him gasp. 

Dean doesn't just linger on Bray in scent only. His nails like to write, hard scribbles that only Bray can understand. His mouth when it isn't gasping or screaming out, latches to the others shoulder. Bites down, until theres blood, until Bray muffles a moan and tries to fuck him numb.

But he wants to feel, yet lose all feeling.

He wants to melt away but stay long enough that theres seconds.

Dean says something against Bray's ear, a mess of moans but garbled together. Dean smirks, eyes closing and hands going everywhere.

The headboard.  
Bray.  
The sheets.  
Bray again.

Anything that stains, anything that'll remember this. Marked with blood, marked with just about anything else.

Dean feels high when he cums, it shoots through his limbs and leaves him weightless. He feels like he can die but it'll be worth it, he feels too warm, sticky and sore. But it's a buzz, a buzz that lingers even as his orgasm starts to subside. He's sensitive and Bray isn't done, but it's fine because when he cums it extends the buzz just a little more. He feels like his skin will melt, Bray might melt too but there isn't ink or flesh on his hands. Just Bray nudging his cheek with his head, a few more kisses scattered across his jaw and Dean thinks that he needs another fix already.

And Bray will give him just that.

He'll yield to his every desire after all.

So he's upset at the sudden cold that hits his chest but Bray is kissing his way down, leaving more notes for Dean to find tomorrow. Every bruise is his love letter, every finger shaped mark is an exclamation point. Dean's hips buck up when he feels a warm mouth around his cock, too sensitive still, _but god, don't stop_. And there is no intention to do so.

It seems there never will be.


End file.
